


The Bodyguard

by PhantomWriter



Series: It's a weird start (but we'll be fine) [9]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arrow Season 1, Bodyguard, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11940147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter/pseuds/PhantomWriter
Summary: Side by side, you'd think Oliver Queen was the bodyguard instead of one Barry Allen. When he replaced Oliver Queen's previous one, the billionaire/vigilante thought he'd be escaping from him like a walk in a park.Boy was he so wrong.





	The Bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

> just to clear things up, The Flash timeline in this fic happened earlier than Arrow timeline, let's just say Barry got his speed a year and a half early.

Although troublesome, it was easy.

 

The thing about bodyguards was that they were always on the lookout with a very serious expression, as if expecting trouble to come from outside.

 

They weren’t much prepared when it comes from the rich spoiled kid they were supposed to be handling. Especially from the _playboy_ son of a billionaire family whose idea of trouble was slipping out of the house and trying to smuggle a female or two past the gate.

 

Except that after coming back from that island, Oliver Queen has been escaping his bodyguards for more than trivial reasons. And, really, he wasn’t planning on reporting how they failed to get him in line for at least two hours—it was favorable to him that way.

 

Unfortunately, they kept resigning (pride, he guessed) and they were getting replaced by one after another with somebody who has a fancier military record than the previous.

 

Didn’t make the escape any difficult though.

 

His latest was a man named John Diggle who was annoyed when he drove him once and found Oliver had went out of the _moving_ car. It didn’t dissuade him to give up, as Oliver had seen him still around the following day and even accompanied him to the party he threw purposely a building next to Adam Hunt’s. And Oliver might have encountered a bit of resistance from Diggle but he did end up crossing the name off the list.

 

He was actually impressed at how dedicated Diggle was that he began considering to include him in his vigilante business. A thorough background check revealed Diggle to be a man with a clean record, which was kind of rare these days. Though there was some hesitation initially, he didn’t waste any time to save the man and bring him to his hideout.

 

Unsurprisingly, Diggle disapproved of Oliver’s 'night activities'. In the end, resigning just like the others before him.

 

But he couldn’t simply let him get away with his secret and he’d rather not dispose an innocent. The only way left was to include Diggle as an ally. It might take more convincing but Oliver wasn’t one to give up easily.

 

Today, he knew Moira would be introducing him to his new bodyguard, also with background in military most likely, and she probably got smart enough to get someone physically bigger than Diggle—though since when did Oliver became intimidated by that?

 

Much to his surprise, his new bodyguard wasn’t even close to what he expected.

 

It was a man presumably in his early twenties; younger than Oliver even. He was tall and on the lean side and looked awkward standing there when Moira introduced him to her son.

 

Oliver wondered why his mother didn’t have a say in this. When he asked her briefly, she merely shrugged and told him the young man was what the agency supplied when she specifically asked for someone professional at handling _elusive brats_ who kept evading their own bodyguards.

 

Looking at Barry Allen, the newly appointed bodyguard of Oliver Queen, he did seem to have spent a lot of time running, having a runner’s physique and all that. Though there was still a huge doubt on his capabilities on protecting his client (of course, Oliver doesn’t need that, but for the sake of argument) and close quarter combat.

 

It wouldn’t be a shock to Oliver if he ever found out that Barry didn’t know how to use a gun.

    

“Do your parents know you’re here?” was his first question to him after Moira left them to ‘get acquainted’.

 

Barry blinked as if taken aback by the question. “Uh, my dad does. My mom doesn’t.” Oliver frowned at the answer. “She’s dead,” Barry corrected when he mistook the older man’s expression.

 

“Oh.” Oliver cleared his throat, unsure what to say to that. He changed the topic. “If you don’t mind me saying, you look rather young to be from the military.”

 

“It’s because I’m not. I mean, I don’t like the violence,” he told him.

 

Oliver was close to asking what the hell were his qualifications then when Barry spoke first and said he was hooked up on the job by his foster father’s friend and he agreed so he could use his abilities and be useful to his foster family at Central City.

 

“Do you mean being a track runner?” He didn’t know what _abilities_ Barry was talking about. “You seem athletic to me,” Oliver amended, tight-lipped.

 

The younger man laughed lightly at that. “I’m too clumsy for sports. But, yeah, I’m good at running. Fast too.”

 

Oliver bet he meant running away from danger and he had nothing against self-preservation but his mother was paying for a bodyguard, not a fast runner.

 

Whatever. His family seemed to have many to burn that Moira was willing to risk some on a bad investment like Barry Allen.

 

And who exactly was he to complain when escaping away would now be a walk in the park with this kind of bodyguard?

 

Oliver had no idea he would be eating his words sooner.

 

* * *

 

Later that afternoon, Oliver was to get back to his hideout and monitor the next person on his list. He asked for Barry to ready the car ( _he knows how to drive at least_ ) under the pretense of requesting to be driven around the city. When the latter was finally at the garage—somewhere at the back of the mansion that takes a few minutes of walking—to start the vehicle, Oliver immediately went to where he hid his motorcycle and sped away on the driveway.

 

Once he reached the main gate though, he suddenly halted the motor, tires screeching on the pavement, when he saw a person loitering by the gate.

 

It was Barry.

 

“The car is ready, Mr. Queen,” he said simply and grinned at probably dumbfounded face of Oliver Queen.  

 

_What the hell._

 

Oliver could only meekly follow the retreating back of his bodyguard.

 

* * *

 

He thought there had to be a mistake in his calculations when he found himself at the back of the car.

 

The distance from the garage and the entrance to the estate should be a 7-10 minute walk. Using his motorbike, he halved the distance time, and yet Barry had been _ahead_ of him.

 

“Is there any specific place you’d like to go, Mr. Queen?” Barry asked, looking at the rear-view mirror.

 

Oliver decided it was a mere error on his analysis and he wouldn’t be caught off guard the next time Barry would pull off the same trick. Whatever that was. His lips formed a thin line when he answered, “I don’t have anything in mind. Just drive around, I suppose. Be sure to use the main road.”

 

They could have used alternative routes but Oliver had a plan. If he wasn’t successful earlier, he would try again.

 

Besides, it was proven to work before on Diggle.

 

Barry didn’t say anything but nod at the command. He never talked to Oliver through the ride, and was whistling to some catchy song that sounded familiar. Occasionally, he would glance at the mirror to look at his passenger at the back and would give a small smile whenever they meet each other’s gaze.

 

Half an hour later, Oliver was nowhere to be found inside the car.

 

There wasn’t any traffic that time on the highway and no near turn points that he was pretty confident that Barry wouldn’t be able to intercept him at the end of the alley he was using. He had in sight the fire escape ladder he had used before to get to the top of the building and parkour his way to his hideout.

 

As he jogged closer, there was a sudden whip of wind and then there was his bodyguard, leaning casually on a wall, sipping on a 7-11 slushy.

 

“Mr. Queen! I was wondering where you went when you suddenly vanished.” Barry looked relieved.

 

Oliver stared at him blankly.

 

The younger man glanced away sheepishly. “I hope it’s okay. I parked the car in front of the convenience store and got myself some snacks.”

 

“I don’t.” _Understand how the hell you did that._ “Mind. I don’t mind,” he said firmly. His expression betrayed none of the things going on in his head in confusion.

 

When Barry beamed at him gratefully and finished his flavored drink, Oliver was thinking about what Barry had said about being good at running. There had to be something cryptic at that simple statement that he hasn’t figured out yet.

 

With the following three days ending with his investigation on the person next on the list finishing past midnight, and with large adjustments on the schedule that he has to make, Oliver thought back on the number of his attempted escape from Barry that surpassed the number of his fingers, with him failing miserably to do so _every_ single time.

 

It appeared as if he had underestimated him.

 

This would definitely be a problem.

 

* * *

 

Moira praised Oliver’s newly hired bodyguard for not letting her son get out of Barry’s sight while on duty, even adding that it was a feat nobody had accomplished before, and then sending Oliver a barely visible smirk as if saying his escaping days were finally over.

 

Barry humbly accepted the compliments and told her that he was glad he was doing a good enough job on it. Begrudgingly, Oliver admitted to himself that it was more than enough.

 

As instructed, he was taken to a branch of Big Belly Burger—a place he knew he would find Diggle and persuade the man again, or at least try to.

 

“I’ll be meeting with someone privately. Can you wait here?”

 

Barry adjusted his weight in his feet. “I don’t think Mrs. Queen will like to hear that I let you get away since it’s my duty to stay with you all the time?” he actually looked apologetic when he said it unsurely that Oliver felt slightly bad for him. “Sorry.”

 

“Fine.” Oliver sighed. He gestured to Barry to come in with him, but reminded the other that he would be getting a separate booth. Thankfully, Barry didn’t have a problem in this.

 

Annoyed, Diggle slid to the seat in front of Oliver and told him for the nth time that he refused the former's offer of vigilante-ing. Though today Oliver has an ace up his sleeve—Deadshot. When interest flashed on the taller man’s eyes, Oliver knew he was successful. A bit of information and promise of getting to his brother’s killer themselves, Diggle seemed sold at the prospect of bringing justice and helping the city. With a polite handshake, Diggle said he would reconsider going be back to pose as his bodyguard after a few days.

 

“It’ll help your mother stop looking for replacement,” Diggle added as an afterthought dryly.

 

“She already did.”

 

Diggle appeared to be perplexed when he saw nobody lingering around Oliver, and then realization dawned on him. _Of course._ “You escaped again. Why am I not surprised?”

 

Oliver’s lips twitched. “You should, because I didn’t.” He crossed his arms on top of the table, leaning slightly. “Your 7 o clock.”

 

Turning at the direction, Diggle could only see a thin man who ordered several burgers and bunch of fries and a tall beverage. “Where?”

 

“That’s him.”

 

He did a double take and then frowned back at Oliver who said nothing more. Diggle spared Barry another glance and received a slight wave of the hand and a small tentative smile between mouthfuls of fries.

 

“He… doesn’t look like a bodyguard material,” Diggle managed. Oliver let out what seemed to be a snort. “Third replacement this week?”

 

“The one after you. And, yes, he’s the only one to last more than a week so far,” Oliver said to the other man’s raised eyebrows.

 

Diggle actually looked impressed, unbelieving that Oliver was talking about the same person stuffing himself with food and putting a bit of fat to his lean frame a few tables away. “I bet you tire the kid everyday with all the chasing around and being unsuccessful.”

 

“Quite the contrary when I’m the one who can’t slip past him,” Oliver told him wryly.

 

“You did from trained men before, professionals at handling escaping prisoners of war. What’s wrong with him?”

 

Oliver didn’t know how to put it. “He’s fast.” And he kind of underestimated him.

 

“It’s always the one you least expected,” Diggle murmured. Oliver had to agree. “How’s that doing for the vigilante?”

 

“Difficult,” he said honestly. “I can’t conduct my investigations during the day. I’m behind the supposed schedule.” He gazed at Diggle in his business-like face. “That’s why I’ll need a double at this rate.”

 

The older man didn’t give any affirmation yet and instead advised, “Be creative then.”

 

* * *

 

Moira didn’t seem to mind Oliver having two bodyguards when Diggle reinstated himself the next day. He could have picked a better timing since Oliver was arrested by the SCPD the very same day on suspicion of being the hooded vigilante.

 

He was prepared for this kind of worst case scenario, of the polygraph test he accepted and passing it. While the house arrest limited his mobility, it was what he exactly needed to throw away the suspicion. He instigated a prison-themed party at the Queen mansion he wasn’t enthusiastic about but would help keeping up appearances.

 

It was raining in the afternoon and although he wasn’t a fan of thunderstorms, he kind of hoped for it to last until tomorrow. The questions during the test brought nothing but repressed memories that he was sure Laurel has started to doubt him for passing it perfectly. _Too perfect_ , in fact.

 

He settled himself on the living room of the couch, feeling drained with the preparations he wasn’t excited for and trying not to flinch at the strikes of lightning. He momentarily closed his eyes, drowning the noise of the rain patters against the windows and roof.

 

When he opened them though, he saw Slade looking down at him with a hateful snarl, one eye a gaping hole of nothingness. A strong forearm was latched to his neck, preventing him to stand and make a sound.

 

Against the pressure, Oliver’s hand instinctively shot up to go for the aggressor's neck and curl his fingers to snap the bone. Except that it was expertly dodged that Oliver felt the rise of panic and lack of air.

 

“Mr. Queen!”

 

Oliver woke up with a gasp. With ragged breathing and excessive sweating, his dazed mind registered Barry kneeling beside the couch with his hands on Oliver’s strong shoulders. The latter's left hand was uselessly, but precariously, an inch beside Barry’s neck, palm grasping into nothing.

 

“I’ll get you a glass of water,” Barry said, standing up and went down the hall.

 

It has only been two hours but the downpour has slowed down into light showers. Barry returned and handed the water. Oliver thanked him quietly.

 

“Nightmare,” was Oliver’s one-worded explanation.

 

“I could see that.”

 

“Thank you. For waking me,” he added. “And I’m sorry.”

 

Barry smiled at him wanly. “It’s alright. You didn’t touch me.”

 

Just was his luck. But he wondered if it was merely luck of narrowly avoiding choking Barry to death. The young man was surprising him more and more each day with his uniqueness. Oliver wouldn’t be surprised anymore if Barry even has incredible reflexes.

 

He would found out sooner this man's mystery once Diggle came back from Oliver’s first assignment for him.

 

“Will you need anything else, Mr. Queen? Mr. Diggle isn’t around yet. But if you’d like to go somewhere within the perimeter, I can accompany you.” He paused. “To clear your head.”

 

Oliver shook his head, grateful for the considerate offer. “I’m fine staying indoors.” He set down the coffee table the empty glass. “And, please, it’s Oliver.”

 

Barry tilted his head with a slight grin. “Alright, Oliver.”

 

* * *

 

Diggle gave him a thick sheaf of papers crammed in a manila folder.

 

“It’s everything I can find about him.” Oliver received it with a nod.

 

He told Diggle about an ongoing arms dealing that the hood was about to take down tonight. At Diggle’s argument of Oliver being on house arrest, the latter explained that he wouldn’t be the one wearing it. The taller man was quick to catch on with Oliver’s plan of using the party to have several witnesses and have the charges against him dropped.

 

Once the man left, Oliver wasted no second to scan through the papers. Barry Allen was the son of convicted Henry Allen for the murder of his wife. According to the papers, Joe West, a detective at Central City Police, stood as Barry’s foster father, and his biological daughter Iris West as Barry’s foster sister. Barry finished college with a degree in criminology, majoring in forensic science, and graduated with Latin honor. He worked for the CCPD for two years as CSI until he was hit by lightning the night of the particle accelerator explosion from S.T.A.R. Labs. He was in a coma for nine months, and because of some personal reasons, went to live alone in Star City five months he woke up from comatose. The papers were mostly medical—about the transfer from Central City General Hospital to S.T.A.R. Labs under the care of Harrison Wells.

 

Oliver wasn’t sure what to make out of the information dump; if there was even something to dig within or more to find out about Barry Allen that wasn’t included.

 

If he would be honest, Oliver didn’t really know what he was looking for. Perhaps it was due to the developed nature of distrust at anything and anybody until proven otherwise, or the lingering feeling of Barry being something more than the younger man wanted everybody to believe.

 

He kept the findings aside and hid the folder in a safe place to get back to the party and let as many guests as he could to see him around. Night wore on with him and Laurel having their talk, of him showing her his scars but letting her figure it all out on her own. He would go along with whatever she has in mind to keep her in the dark.

 

Come midnight, Diggle called in to tell about the successful mission in which Oliver responded with a _good job_. There was a knock on his door and he guessed it was somebody (Tommy or Thea) asking for him to get back to the party.

 

It wasn’t. Instead it was a stranger posing as a waiter and he was carrying a gun aimed at Oliver’s face the moment the door was opened.

 

Oliver immediately angled the wrist and pulled the man inside to lessen the risk of involving an innocent who might happen to stumble upon them. They exchanged blows and with the way the unknown man blocked every hit to his vitals, Oliver realized this was a trained killer. As for who hired him, he would find it out.

 

Oliver suddenly stopped when he was held at gunpoint and a few steps away from the man to land at least a kick. With adrenaline pumping in his veins, Oliver’s whole body screamed to dodge and roll when he heard the finger clicking on the trigger.

 

But the shot never came to his body, or anywhere near him for that matter.

 

As if he was all of a sudden transported to the living room, a floor below, in a blink of an eye.

 

Beside him was Barry with an arm around his waist, expression grim when he asked Oliver if he was alright.

 

Oliver had millions of questions running on his mind but schooled them, giving a short nod. Barry appeared to be relieved by the answer and then left with streaks of yellow lightning after the blur of him returning upstairs to subdue the hired assassin. Detective Lance busted in right that minute from the front door and found Oliver standing in the middle of the room.

 

“There’s a gunman in my room and Barry is there with him,” he said. Detective Lance rushed up, with Oliver after him.

 

Back to his room, Barry was standing there, hands on his hips and looking warily at the unconscious man. He straightened his back at the sight of Detective Lance and Oliver Queen.

 

“Um, I hope you don’t mind. I tied him since he won’t stop waving the gun around.” Barry laughed nervously that has Detective Lance regard him oddly, like asking whether he was serious or not.

 

As for Oliver, Barry caught his eyes that read _I’ll be having words with_ _you_. But the former was whisked away by the officer to get his statement, while another was to have the bodyguard's.

 

Barry could only smile apologetically when Oliver passed by him.

 

* * *

 

Oliver couldn’t sleep the previous night, trying to wrap his head on what he witnessed. He did keep it to himself and never mentioned a thing about his bodyguard being able to move at great speed.

 

He saw Barry the following morning, in his usual self and munching some kind of protein bar.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Queen,” Barry greeted him, but promptly turned his eyes away. Diggle had noticed the exchange, though he didn’t comment.

 

“I heard what happened last night,” Diggle said when it was just the two of them. “Any idea who wants you dead?”

 

“Somebody who hates the vigilante.” It was the likeliest. Though his mind was far away from who was behind it.

 

Oliver needed answers from Barry as soon as possible.

 

* * *

 

He tasked Diggle for a follow up on the German arms dealing, and they were to meet later in the hideout. For the meantime, Oliver requested to be driven by Barry to the bay.

 

“Take a walk with me,” Oliver said, with Barry complying without a word.

 

“What is it that you want to know?”

 

“Everything you want me to.”

 

Barry told him what wasn’t included in those papers—witnessing his mother’s murder by the hand of something impossible, how he wasn’t believed when he insisted that his father was innocent. He told him about becoming the _impossible_ himself after being struck by lightning and that it wasn’t only him who gained superhuman abilities, but also many more in Central City. People like him now called metahumans.  

 

And he used it, used it for the greater good for a while. Until there was one he couldn’t save and the guilt ate him inside, feared that he would end up hurting people in the process. He left after making sure he would be leaving his role in good hands.

 

“I’m a coward,” Barry said, looking away. He called himself that but it didn’t mean he never missed being a hero, as Oliver could clearly see in his eyes.

 

“No, you are not.” Somehow, he was more convinced of this than any other statement. “But you need time. And someday when you’re finally fine, you'll get back to it.”

 

He didn’t know he was still able to make somebody's face light up the way Barry’s did with few words that the warm smile he received tugged something inside.

 

“Thank you, for saving me last night,” Oliver said.

 

“Hey, what are bodyguards for?” Barry mused. “Though you handled your attacker quite well.” There was an amused lilt in his voice when he told him.

 

“Basic self-defense knowledge.”

 

Barry seemed on the verge of pointing out that they have a different concept of _basic_. “If you say so, Oliver.” He grinned, dropping the subject. “And, uh, thanks too. For listening to me.”

 

“No problem.” Oliver pocketed his hands and regarded Barry fully who looked as if preoccupied.

 

“Do you mind if I hug you?”

 

Oliver blinked. “Pardon?”

 

Barry raised his arms and was going for an embrace when the older man stopped him.

 

“I’m not really a hugger.”

 

It didn’t discourage Barry though, saying, “It’s okay. I'm fast enough that you won’t notice me hugging you.” And then he dived in and gathered Oliver in his arms.

 

Oliver twitched at the close contact, but willed himself to relax when he realized that it didn’t feel bad.

 

It was actually… pleasant.

 

And if it was Barry, well, he probably wouldn’t mind.

 

He could get used to this.

 

* * *

 

Oliver remembered Diggle’s advice of _be creative_ when he was in dire need to get back to the hideout after some major breakthrough in an ongoing investigation.

 

Thing was, for months, he was yet to slip past Barry Allen. And now that he knew he was a _speedster_ , things got more difficult for him.

 

“Barry,” Oliver called him, halting to a stop beside his bodyguard who was leaning against the rails, overlooking the bay—it was the same place where Barry told him everything which only added on the terrible feeling of tricking his ( _friend?_ ) bodyguard.

 

Oliver promised to himself never to repeat this again, that he was just pressured to do so since the situation was requiring him to get dirty.

 

“Yes?”

 

He heard Barry’s breath hitched when Oliver leaned on his personal space, barely an inch apart, nose already touching. Barry didn’t move away, but instead closed his eyes that made Oliver thought _he has nice eyelashes_ , the sunset was beautiful that set up the mood amazingly and _I’m getting distracted._

 

It sucked.

 

A few beats later of no pair of lips landing on his, Barry opened his eyes and found nobody in front of him.

 

He huffed, shaking his head, laughing lowly to himself and thinking he had to hand it to Oliver Queen.

 

“Go save the day,” he murmured with a private smile. He thought he would have to come up with appropriate alias for the hooded vigilante.

 

 _Green Arrow_ has a nice ring.

* * *

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> hah! I need more Olivarry in my life.
> 
> danke for reading.


End file.
